


When Life Hands You Lemons

by wackyjacqs



Series: Bizarre Holidays [243]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode: s08e18 Threads, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wackyjacqs/pseuds/wackyjacqs
Summary: Their third day at the cabin sees them finally go fishing, while Jack resolutely tries to avoid staring at Sam’s legs.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Series: Bizarre Holidays [243]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1234973
Comments: 23
Kudos: 109





	When Life Hands You Lemons

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ‘Lemon Juice Day’ (29 August).

Their third day at the cabin sees them finally go fishing, while Jack resolutely tries to avoid staring at Sam’s legs.

One of the reasons Jack enjoys his cabin in Minnesota is the fact that if he wants to sleep in, he can. He doesn’t, usually, but the option to be able to is at least there and, on this visit in particular, he half-expects Sam to take advantage of the change in scenery and location and everything else to catch up on the hours and hours of sleep she’s foregone over the years. But she doesn’t and for the second early morning in a row, he bumps into her in the hallway.

“I’ll… go start breakfast,” he mumbles as he runs a hand through his hair and tries to ignore the vision of a sleepy, pajama-clad Samantha Carter as she disappears into the bathroom.

An hour later, Jack is busy sorting through his old tackle box when he feels Sam approach. He remains crouching but swivels to look at her and he feels his jaw drop. She looks stunning and Jack briefly wonders if it’s a little unfair that the woman now walking tantalizingly towards him can look so good when she’s not even trying and she’s dressed casually in a pair of denim shorts, a tank top and sneakers. He forces his gaze away from her legs and stands up.

“So,” Sam says as she joins him at the end of the dock, “what’s on the agenda for today?”

Jack grins down at her. “Today,” he says, placing a hand on her upper arm and guiding her to one of the folding chairs, “we’re finally going fishing.”

The smile he receives in return is worth every single second of the journey they’ve endured to get to this point; and, like anything he’s seen Sam put her mind to over the past eight years, Jack only needs to show her how to set up the reel and rod once, as well as the lure and bobbers, before she gets the hang of it.

“You’re a natural,” he grins when she casts the line for the first time by herself.

“Am I actually going to catch any fish?”

 _“Sam,”_ he says with a shake of the head as he picks up his own rod and casts the line into the pond, “it’s not about the actual fish, themselves. It’s about fish _ing._ The act of fishing itself.”

Her laughter floats over the air as she settles back into her chair.

* * *

Jack awakes with a start and instinctively glances to his left to find Sam is no longer there. He frowns, then grimaces, when he checks his watch and realizes he’s been asleep for almost an hour.

He sets his fishing rod on the ground by his chair and tries to ignore the pop of his knees and the way his back cracks as he stands and stretches.

“I’m getting too old for this,” he mutters as he grabs his long-since discarded plaid shirt and turns towards the cabin in search of Carter.

However, he’s not really paying attention as he slides the glass door open and steps into the kitchen, so when he does look up, he freezes at the sight that greets him. Sam is still wearing the shorts and tank top but when she stands on her tiptoes and reaches for the bag of sugar on the top shelf of the cupboard, the top rides up a little so he sees a sliver of pale skin underneath.

He leans a shoulder against the door frame and crosses his arms across his chest. She’s oblivious to his presence and he’s content to just watch her as she moves easily around the kitchen – as she has the entire cabin the past couple of days – like she fully belongs there and he firmly believes that she does.

Moments later and he _swears_ he hears her start to hum. The rush of desire that hits him is almost overwhelming. He looks away and his gaze falls to the countertop where he finds the remains of the lemons she insisted they buy yesterday at the grocery. He can’t hide his amusement.

“Whatcha doin’?”

She jumps at his voice and then turns her head and smiles. “Nothing – but I’m almost finished.”

“Interesting distinction,” he chuckles as he pushes off the frame and makes his way over to the kitchen table. He hangs his shirt over the back of one of the chairs before he turns around but before he can make any other comments, or even move further into the room, Sam blocks his path.

“You can’t be in here,” she says and he raises a brow in surprise. “I promise,” she adds shyly, “I’ll be back outside in a couple of minutes.”

“When you’ve finished… doing nothing?” he asks dryly.

“Exactly!” With that, Sam gestures for him to go away. He smirks as he steps outside; he could get used to her giving him orders.

He’s only outside for a few minutes when he hears the door open so he picks up the fishing rod and casts the line. Moments later, a glass tumbler appears in his line of sight. He goes to take it from her, his fingers brushing over hers, but any comment he has dies on his lips the instant he looks up at her. Because in addition to her outfit, she’s now also wearing his plaid shirt.

 _“Crap,”_ he mutters under his breath as he almost spills his drink.

“I hope this is okay,” she says nervously, tugging on the hem of the shirt. When he meets her eye, she gestures awkwardly at the garment, then at the sky, and adds, “I’m not used to so much sun.”

“No, no,” he says with more finesse than he feels, “it’s fine. It’s… good.”

He decides to stop just short of adding that it looks better on her than it _ever_ will on him and instead takes a drink, while Sam releases the breath she’s been holding and finally retakes her seat.

“Carter,” he hedges as he frowns at his glass, “is this what you were doing in my kitchen? _Making lemonade?”_

She shrugs in response but out of the corner of his eye he sees her try to hide her smile behind her own tumbler. “I may not be a great cook,” she admits, “but Teal’c says I make the best lemonade this side of the galaxy.”

A low chuckle escapes him and he takes another drink.

It really is the best lemonade he’s ever had.


End file.
